


an art to life's distraction

by GreyishBlue



Series: time was so tangible [2]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Bucky is thirsty, Discussion of kink, First Dates, First Kiss, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Hair Braiding, M/M, Masturbation, Old Man Hawkeye! Clint, Texting, Twunk! Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21679435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyishBlue/pseuds/GreyishBlue
Summary: Clint doesn’t know what exactly he expected, just trying to have a beer at the local dive bar because he was out of his own, again. But whatever vague ideas he had of quiet and shoving shitty booze into his face went out the window the moment a gorgeous tipsy brunette slunk into the chair next to him.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Kate Bishop, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: time was so tangible [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562833
Comments: 46
Kudos: 121
Collections: Winterhawk Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the fic title, Hozier. I think he'd be pretty happy about that phenomenon, to be honest.
> 
> Anyway uh. Please enjoy some more Old Man Hawkeye with our darling Twunk Bucky. 
> 
> Written for Winterhawk Bingo Square: Kate Bishop

Clint doesn’t know what exactly he expected, just trying to have a beer at the local dive bar because he was out of his own, again. But whatever vague ideas he had of quiet and shoving shitty booze into his face went out the window the moment a gorgeous tipsy brunette slunk into the chair next to him. Clint had done his utmost to gently ignore him, but the slip of a thing had been determined, and Clint was always a sucker for a boy with a pretty smile. 

Still, he’d managed to keep the flirting light enough, only giving in and tasting the soft, stubbled skin of Bucky’s jaw once. Fairly certain the younger man would forget or regret his drunken shenanigans, he let himself enjoy chatting with him until it was time to herd him into a cab. That, Clint figured, would be that.   
  


He's having a hell of a time actually getting to sleep now that he’s home, though. There's the usual aches and pains he settles into, but there's a persistent humming heat he can't ignore. He's polite, not dead, and his brain conjures up image after image of how pretty Bucky looked draped all over him, needy and a little pushy from the booze. Clint gives in and slides a hand down to stroke himself, letting his mind wonder what Bucky's pretty pout would look like wrapped around his cock. It’s easy to imagine the breathy moans and whimpers muffled against him, those shining grey eyes looking up, the long auburn hair falling around that sharp jaw. The orgasm hits him embarrassingly fast, and he cleans up with a little pang of guilt that he buries quickly before he can think about it too much. Settling into sleep is much easier, then.

**\---**

Clint’s phone buzzes in his pocket sometime around noon the next day, he manages to retrieve it with minimal fuss. Just a little juggling of the leashes in his hand, and like… four drops of coffee hitting the phone, max. The name that flashes up on his screen is Bucky Barnes, and he honestly doesn’t remember at what point of the night he’d gotten the guy’s last name, or when he put them into his phone. He shoves the phone haphazardly back in to a pocket so he can get the small herd of shelter dogs to the gate of the park. He’s definitely not avoiding looking at the message, or anything, but it does take him a while to get everything sorted before he slumps onto a bench to actually see what it says. 

**You said to call but no one does that any more, so. hey! - Bucky! :*** _  
_ _  
_ And well. Alright. That’s surprising in a few ways. Clint stares down at his phone like maybe it’s lying to him? He didn’t expect to hear from the guy, much less get something positive. Was that thing at the end a kissy face? Shit. He’s gonna have to ask Kate about fucking emojis again, isn’t he? When the message doesn’t change under his very stern glare, he sighs and starts to tap out a response.   
  
_ hi bucky... how are u feeling? _ _  
_ _  
_ It feels really stupid to write out, but he doesn’t really know what else to say. He wants to make sure the guy is alright, but he’s got no idea where to go from there. Dealing with people seems so much easier when there’s not all this weird down time to consider the how and why of things. In person, he can break it down to steps. Flirt. Talk. Get them water. Sneak out a side door. Punch, run, sometimes. He’s always been better just acting, instead there’s all this thinking. Another little buzzing in his lap distracts him before he can somehow overthink thinking about things.   
  
**Im good! Did you actually want to go out with me, or was that a polite brush off cuz I was drunk?**

Christ, okay. The kid is direct, and Clint appreciates the fuck out of it. He grins.

  
_ yeah sure... dinner? _ _  
_ _  
_ He figures at least if he feeds Bucky, he can take care of that little kernel of guilt simmering in his chest. And he was easy as hell on the eyes, fun to talk to... yeah, dinner sounded like not the most selfless thing he’s ever offered someone.   
  
**Tonight?** _  
  
_

_ hows 8… i can pick u up? _

Bucky’s response is immediate, and positive, followed by an address and a few more emoji that Clint doesn’t try to decipher. He types back a quick affirmative, then shoves the phone back in his pocket so he can focus on throwing toys to the dogs and petting every single one as much as it wants. 

It’s only a little later, happily covered in dog drool and mud, walking the herd back in the waning sunlight of the early evening, that he realizes he has to get himself ready for a date. Shit. He’s definitely got to call Kate now.

She picks up on the third ring, sounding already incredibly bored with him before he’s even said anything, “Clint. Texting. It’s a thing, man.”   
  
“Katie-Kate! Yeah uh. Okay I know but. I’ve got a date, I think? Just tell me where the hell I take someone that's nice. Kate?"

He stares at his phone, forlorn, after he hears the stupid little hang up sound. A moment later there's an incoming text with the name of a restaurant, and he just barely manages to repress the urge to call her to say thank you. Instead, he sends her a quick text, pats himself on the back for his efforts.   
  
What feels like forever later, once the dogs are dropped back off at the shelter and he’s home, it really hits him that he’s somehow managed to get talked into taking a twenty-something boy out for dinner. Or maybe he talked the guy into it? It adds an extra half hour at least of freaking out to the whole ‘getting ready for a date’ routine. Clint picks out the better parts of his wardrobe, all things that Kate or Natasha bought him, not at all surprisingly. It ends up being a decent outfit, black pants that cling just right to his thighs, a soft cream colored cable-knit sweater over a purple button up that’s definitely not got a stain he’s hiding, and some not comfortable but at least presentable shiny black shoes. 

Kate shows up right as he’s getting antsy again, letting herself in and helping herself to a beer from his fridge. She drops down beside him, where he’s picking at the arm of the threadbare couch. The look she gives him is a pale imitation of Nat’s, but it’s still pretty effective.    
  
“Alright, just tell me, what’ve I done wrong?” Clint says.   
  
“You don’t look half bad, old man. Gotta do something with your hair though.” Kate says with her lopsided grin, and it’s familiar and comforting in the way you can only get from family, really.    
  
Clint shrugs and shuffles himself around on the couch until she can reach his hair easily. He’s not sure when or where she got a brush, but she puts it to good use. Kate gathers the slightly unruly silver and arranges it into something he’d never have bothered with himself. Half of his hair is pulled up with a few braids worked in, gathered in a loose bun. The rest still hangs down to his shoulders, but Kate had brushed in something that made it all look incredibly soft.    
  
For all the teasing and competition between them over the years, Kate always really cares. It’s like she has a nose for when his nerves start to fray, and she just shows up, keeps him company or brings pizza or listens on those rare occasions he wants to talk something out. Even though he has a lot of friends, not that many end up as close as Kate has, and he’s always grateful for her. They waste time together talking about the latest dramatic happenings at the shelter where Kate works and Clint often volunteers.

Clint keeps a careful eye on the clock, eventually gathering his keys and jacket. Kate gives him a quick hug, and tosses him a thick black scarf as he goes, wishes him luck in that fake-bored voice she uses with him constantly. Then he finally leaves his apartment with just enough time to go pick up Bucky.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the gorgeous older guy from last night wasn’t a dream. Fan-fucking-tastic, Bucky thinks. His number sits in the ‘last called’ list, taunting Bucky with thoughts of his absolutely abysmal attempts at flirting. He’s about 80% sure the man’s name is Clint, or maybe Clark? He adds a little signature to the first text he types out, hoping maybe the guy will respond in kind so he can be sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was assured I would not be stabbed for ending it here. *bolts*
> 
> Written for Winterhawk Bingo Square: Millennial Bucky  
> Also for Winterhawk Holiday Prompt: First Snowfall

So the gorgeous older guy from last night wasn’t a dream. Fan-fucking-tastic, Bucky thinks. His number sits in the ‘last called’ list, taunting Bucky with thoughts of his absolutely abysmal attempts at flirting. He’s about 80% sure the man’s name is Clint, or maybe Clark? He adds a little signature to the first text he types out, hoping maybe the guy will respond in kind so he can be sure.

Aaaand the guy texts exactly how you’d expect from an older person. Makes sense, at least. Bucky looks past the awkward use of ellipses and lack of capitalization and realizes that the guy is actually willing to go on a date. Or. A hang out, at least. Shit, he really should have specifically used the word date so he wouldn’t have to wonder. He refrains, with great effort, from sending the guy some stupid memes to lighten up the text conversation. 

Date/hangout confirmation in hand, Bucky goes into a little panic spiral about how to look as fuckable as possible while maintaining some sense of decorum. He carefully pulls his hair back in a sloppy bun, making sure some strands are artfully arranged to frame his face. Tight ripped jeans, a thin white tank top with a leather jacket over it, and old work boots all come together to make a picture that Bucky really hopes screams “Please fuck me into your mattress.” He might be a bit cold, but eh, he’s done dumber things for less attractive men. 

With that, all he has to do with himself is wait for 8 to roll around. He wastes time with petting Alpine, playing an addictive little match game on his phone, and nervously drinking a beer to calm himself. He stops before opening another, as much as he wants to. Clint certainly seemed like he takes consent seriously, and Bucky isn’t willing to risk seeming like he’s too out of it to say Yes. Emphatically Yes to all those muscles and the crinkles by Clint’s icy blue eyes and the entire bulk of him hopefully holding Bucky down.

Clint calls to let Bucky know he’s downstairs waiting, because of course he does. His voice is rumbly and deep on the phone, gives Bucky little shivers along his skin just from the sound of it. He’s pleasantly surprised to see Clint waiting at the passenger door for him, holding it open, the absolute picture of a gentleman. His outfit is clingy but refined, and his hair looks stunning, the silver almost shimmering in the glow of the streetlamps. Bucky isn’t going to survive this date with his libido intact, and he doesn’t mind even a little bit.

The car Clint helps him into is kind of old, shows some wear and tear, and makes some weird noise when the heater kicks on, but it’s clean and comfortable. Bucky finds himself settling into the seat easily enough. The small talk between them is awkward at first, like neither is really sure what the other is hoping for. Bucky kind of hates it, it’s worlds away from last night, where Clint had seemed so sure and commanding.

Clint must notice the pout creeping onto Bucky’s face, he drapes a hand over Bucky’s knee and squeezes before rumbling out, “Hey, no pressure, alright? I’m not here to do anything you don’t want.”

Bucky realizes that maybe they’ve both got some nerves going on here, and his must be showing, so he takes a deep breath and gives Clint his most charming smile before replying, “I know, you seem trustworthy. I'm just uhh… used to stuff like this being hookups?" And then he's blushing hard, worries he's making himself sound some kind of desperate, but Clints soft huff of laughter cuts through his worry spiral almost immediately. 

"That what you want, Buck? Thought you wanted to be taken care of." Clints eyes are practically glinting with mischief, and there's a knowing smile creeping slowly across his lined face. 

Anand yep, okay. The blush is clearly not gonna get any better, not with the images his mind can conjure up at the deep rumble of Clint's voice, and especially not when the older man is giving him a nickname for his nickname. Bucky manages to mutter out an affirmative, and something in him settles at Clint seeming to still be on board with the original plan. The rest of the drive is uneventful. Their conversation trails off, Bucky happily listens to Clint softly singing along with the radio, off tune as hell and clearly enjoying himself anyway.

When Clint pulls the car into a spot in front of Faucon D’Argent, Bucky's heart slips back into his throat. There's no way they're going here, it's way too fancy for someone like him. Bucky looks down at the scuffs on his boots, fairly certain they'll just turn him away at the door. Clint notices, because of course he does, and there's the warm pressure of his big calloused hand along Bucky's jaw, tipping his face easily. 

"You look great, Buck. Pretty as a picture." Clint accompanies his words with a downright sinful wink, and Bucky's brain checks right the fuck out. He's honestly not sure how they make it from the car into the dim-lit corner booth of the restaurant. His brain is filled with a repeating mantra of being called pretty, it makes thinking about anything else surprisingly challenging.

When the lust fog finally starts lifting from his brain, there's a cute little blonde waitress asking him what he wants to drink, and smiling at him in a familiar way. She's laser focused on him and clearly dismissing Clint, and it gets under his skin. He's a full blooded millennial, and spite is one of his greatest motivators, so he leans into Clints space and presses a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. He murmurs, just loud enough so the waitress can't help but hear, "Order for me, Daddy?"

Clint's entire body stiffens for a moment before he grins and does as Bucky asks. He orders their drinks and food, a possessive arm draped over Bucky's shoulders the entire time. Once the waitress leaves, he squeezes Bucky's arm gently. "Hey uh. Is the daddy thing… a thing for you?"

The way Clint asks is so casual that for a moment Bucky isn't sure it's a real question. Then he squirms a little, gathers his voice back up and responds, "I. Um. I thought you'd like it?"

"Honestly, it's not my thing, Buck. I like some power play, especially if you do too. But I’d rather you call me Clint, or Sir, yeah?" He’s got that soft fond smile pointed right at Bucky as he says it, so it’s clear there’s not rejection there.

Still, it makes Bucky think, for a minute. The first older guy he’d been with had liked being called daddy, and well... he’d just sort of started doing it when he was with older men. It hadn’t really occurred to him to think about whether it was something he enjoyed himself. Their drinks arrive, and Bucky sips his while he ponders. Clint doesn’t push him for the answer, just waits patiently, playing with the little fruit sword from his drink idly. 

Eventually he shrugs, “I wasn’t really ever using it for me, I don’t think. I just like being..” his face flushes despite his best efforts to look like the grown adult he is, “not in control.”

Bucky doesn’t have time to worry if Clint will take it badly, because the hungry look that flashes across the older man’s face says everything. Then Clint is leaning in, lips ghosting across the shell of Bucky’s ear, voice deep and rough, “I can do that for you, pretty boy.”

It’s like Bucky can feel the words slip down his spine, the warmth of them pooling low in his belly. Somehow he’s relaxed and more keyed up than he can remember being, at once. He barely knows this guy, but he trusts him, and it’s probably not entirely lust driving that decision. 

Dinner is incredible, and Bucky remembers nothing about it. His brain is too busy cataloguing all the casual little touches between them. From their knees pressed together under the table, to the drag of Clint’s fingertips across his arm as he makes a point in a very involved story about a couple of dogs he’d seen the other day. Things feel charged between them, but it’s still easy to talk, and Clint isn’t pressuring him at all, even after clearly declaring his intentions. It’s different, and it’s really nice.

When Clint gently herds Bucky up and out of his seat, Bucky asks about the check only to receive a dark chuckle in reply, “Aw honey, this was my treat.”

Bucky adds pet names to the list of things that make his heart go double-time. The list has been growing dramatically tonight. 

Clint stops them at the doors, looking out with a goofy grin. Then he unwraps the scarf from around his own shoulders and gently settles it on Bucky’s. Before Bucky can ask, he’s being led out, Clint’s large warm hand pressing like a brand into his lower back. 

He gasps at the soft white blanket of snow that’s fallen since they’d gone inside to eat. It all looks crisp and clean, only a few footprints here or there marring the perfect expanse of it. The first snowfall in a city like this is unique, a clean beauty before everything gets churned up with the lives of the people that occupy it. 

When he can finally pry his eyes off of it, he turns to see that Clint has a similar look of wonder on his face, but he’s looking back at Bucky instead of out at the world. There’s snowflakes catching in his hair, and Bucky watches one land gently on Clint’s lips. 

Once his eyes land there, Bucky can’t bring himself to look away. Clint takes hold of the ends of the scarf and pulls Bucky in to his chest, uses one hand to tilt his head up. Bucky makes a needy sound as their mouths finally meet, a little cold for a moment before Clint’s tongue drags across his lips and Bucky opens to him with a soft groan. He wraps his arms around those impossibly muscled shoulders and holds on for dear life as Clint claims his mouth, his kisses deep and demanding. 

When Clint pulls back, Bucky barely remembers how to stand on his own, has to be steadied a little bit when he lowers from his tiptoes. He’s panting softly, heart going a mile a minute, and he really can’t help himself when he asks, voice just this side of begging, “Please, Clint, take me home with you?”

Clint’s breath stutter-starts in his chest, but that cocky knowing smile is back on his face in a moment, “Whatever you want, Buck.”


End file.
